


Fearless

by peacefrog



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:10:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3665166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fearless, but by his side you were softer than the water that flows beneath the hull of your ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fearless

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Intrépido](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579443) by [Pandora_Von_Christ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandora_Von_Christ/pseuds/Pandora_Von_Christ)



Fearless in the face of death, a king conquering the seas. Mud in your hair, blood drying on your teeth, a feeling you have no name for echoing between sinew and flesh and bone. 

This is who you are, something messy and hardened and dark. Dirty axe blades and sacrifice, an offering to the Gods.

Fearless, but by his side you were softer than the water that flows beneath the hull of your ship. 

Fascinated, every part of him a secret, a treasure map, an epiphany. His faith, his hands, the soft curve of his lips in firelight, the thrum of his pulse beneath your fingertips.

Fearless, for death is not the end. 

Aching, for eternity without him certainly is.

His cross, a heavy remembrance against your skin. The absence of him some tangible, monstrous thing, all teeth and claws and torment.

You shave your hair and everyday it grows back again, an angry reminder of your loss. 

You shave your hair, blood streaming across your eyelids, the Lord’s prayer singing off the blade with every pass.

You shave your hair so that you may wear him like a shroud, a mourning veil, a pyre built upon your skin.

Fearless, but you are destined for ash and he has become the earth.

Fearless, but you would burrow into the ground, carve out a space alongside him in the dirt, hidden from the Gods, a stranger to all you have ever known, if it meant an eternity with the warmth of his hands in your own.

Fearless, but praying to his Lord in desperate silence. Begging, ragged, alone. A pagan with Christ heavy on his neck. A king who would tear apart his throne for one more day, one more hour, one more huddled conversation.


End file.
